Stay
by gidget89
Summary: She wasn't scared of the dark – she liked it actually. The knowledge that no one could see the expression of utter defeat on her face, or the lines that recently seemed to be deepening into crevices on her face.  HouseCuddy Post finale.
1. Did you walk through my door?

A/N: Not sure if this is a one shot or a series. So i've left it open, and I'll let your reviews and my muse help me decide.

Disclaimer: House, M.D is property of David shore and FOX. I do not own any of the characters. No money is being made from this fiction.

* * *

She wished it was raining. At least then the soothing sound of the rain would provide a background noise to the constant thoughts running around in her head. She lay in her bed, close to midnight and watched the shadows lengthen and morph into imaginary shapes on her walls. She wasn't scared of the dark – she liked it actually. The knowledge that no one could see the expression of utter defeat on her face, or the lines that recently seemed to be deepening into crevices on her face. She had never felt so utterly exhausted in all her life – not during med school when she had studied her ass off to reach the top of her class, not during her internship when she had been working eighty hours a week, not even when she first started as Dean and ran around with the feeling that she had to do everything three times better and faster than the previous Dean. 

The past year had been difficult. More than difficult – at times she had wanted to lay down and curl up, waiting for someone to look around and realize she was missing and come save her from herself. Ironically if she had to pick someone who would do that, it would be him. And yet he was the reason she wanted to disappear in the first place.

It wasn't that she didn't feel sympathy. He had been through a terrible time this year, between the ketamine being short lived and the addiction getting out of control – the problem was that he was like a rip tide. Everyone around him somehow got dragged under too, and had to fight the current – fight him for survival. It was draining and she couldn't count the amount of times this year she had wondered if it was all really worth it in the end. She understood House – maybe even better than most. She understood his walls, his patterns just like he understood hers. Lately though something was changing and she felt suddenly like someone standing outside during an earthquake. The ground was sliding out from under her feet and it was wrong and unnatural. She was terrified of falling – mostly because she didn't think she'd survive.

It was sort of her own form of sadism. He was her tool that she punished herself with regularly, but something outside her realm of control was slowly shifting and for the first time in years she had no clue what to expect next from him. She sighed heavily, the thoughts curling around each other and tangling together until she couldn't tell one from the next, she could only feel how drained she was from trying to figure this – him – out. Her silent war with the shadows on her walls was interrupted by the harsh shrill of her home phone. She blinked at it stupidly for a moment before her hand reached out – shaky and pale in the dark – before gripping the handset and picking up the phone. If it was an emergency-

"So what, not even a hello anymore? Cuddy – you're falling behind in the manners department." His tone was gruff and cranky and she almost sighed in disgust as the tension filled her once more. She just wanted to sleep. She was tired, dammit.

"Must be the company I'm keeping. What do you want House? I'm sleeping." Her voice was low and thick with strain, and he paused for a moment, the only sound on the line his deep even breathing as he analyzed every nuance of her statement.

"Well, you aren't sleeping now. And judging by the thickness of your voice you haven't even been to sleep yet." He shot back in a triumphant voice and she felt a small smile flirt with the corners of her mouth before she killed it quickly.

"I'm sorry, shouldn't you be off celebrate your new Zen minimalist, change is good crap? Or can't you call Wilson and bother him?" Her sigh was weak and she felt weighed down by the sheer amount of energy it took to converse with House and keep him firmly out. "I'm just- what do you need House?" Her voice was flat and lifeless – and she heard his intake of breath through the silence strung out tightly along the line.

"I wanted to- say thanks." He mumbled slightly and she didn't respond, since she wasn't sure he had actually said that and she was pretty sure she was wrong anyway. He didn't ever just call to say thanks. For anything. Unless he was about to die or become comatose – Greg House just didn't do things like this. He waited during her tense silence before clearing his throat awkwardly and searching for something else to say. "I uh – I'll start taking applications tomorrow. Hopefully by the end of the week I'll find replacements. I'll let you know." She felt the guilt rise up within her and lodge in her chest, heavy and expectant, curled around her lungs and heart until it hurt just to breath evenly.

"Thank you." her voice was softer now, a gentle stroke after the stinging slap, something to remind him that she still cared – was still there. "House-"

"No time for a booty call tonight Cuddy. I have an ad to write for the job – and lord knows you and your neediness would have me up at all hours. I'll see you tomorrow." His tone was strained, a forced leer entering it as he sought to place them back on the ground they were on a few short days ago. But the earthquake had happened and everything slid out of place. She wasn't sure if he could go backwards from this point. Maybe she didn't even want to anyway. As terrifying as it was, she felt a strange surge of adrenaline at the thought of it.

"Goodnight House. Sleep well." Her voice was surprisingly gentle again, another attempt on her part to reassure him. She didn't think it was working because he didn't speak again, simply sighing softly and dropping the receiver into it's cradle and causing the harsh dial tone to echo in her ears. She hung her phone up, turning her attention to the shadows again. Sleep wouldn't be easy again that night.

* * *

She was making tea at two am when she heard the tell tale thump and scrape by her front door. She paused momentarily, staring at the kettle steaming gently in front of her before dropping the teabag she was holding with a sigh and turning to exit the kitchen. Moving silently from the dining room to the foyer, she paused a moment to look out the window. He was sitting on the front step of her porch , and she couldn't tell how long he was there, only that he seemed settled, his hands loosely wrapped around his cane and his elbows leaning on his knees. 

"Are you insane? It's two am!" She opened the door quickly before speaking. He didn't turn at the sounds, his only noticeable reaction was his hands tightening around his cane. "House?"

"You haven't been sleeping." His voice was flat and matter of fact and she sighed, crossing her arms defensively. "I've heard you pacing around in there. For at least an hour. Why aren't you in bed?" from anyone else the question would have been rude and borderline intrusive. But rude and intrusive weren't descriptions of House – they were character traits.

"Can we at least do this inside? It's cold out and I'm not exactly dressed for the outdoors." she whispered harshly, and these words did get him to turn and look at her, his eyes traveling over her shorts and tank top with appreciation. He nodded, pushing himself up slowly and awkwardly, his own frame clearly stiff from his stint on her front step. She didn't speak again, simply opened the door and leading the way through the foyer, past her table and back into the warm glow of her kitchen again. "I'm making tea. Do you want anything?" The words were polite – something her mother had ingrained in her as a child – polite people offer guests drinks. Even unwelcome, middle of the night guests. He smirked and she wanted to glare but couldn't seem to muster the strength of feeling anymore.

"Sure. Do you have coffee?" She nodded, pulling another mug down and grabbing instant coffee from the cupboard next to it. He didn't speak, just observed her movements as she measured the crystals out and poured hot water over them before moving across with the kettle and adding water to the teabag in her cup. She handed the cup and a spoon to him, waving in the direction of her dining room table. A moment later they were seated next to each other – her at the end and him to her left – sipping too hot beverages in silence. She decided that despite the scalded tongue, it was better than actual conversation.

She swallowed awkwardly, feeling the liquid burn a flavorless path down her throat as he watched her intently. Finally she put the cup down and swore inwardly. He was like a pit bull. "What?"

He blinked slowly, looking at her in the semi darkness of the dining room, only illuminated by the lights from her kitchen and the faint glow of street lights from the window. "I don't know." His voice finally answered her, slowly, as if he wasn't quite sure it was the right answer. "I thought..." he trailed off uncertainly and she watched his hands playing with the handle on the white ceramic mug in front of him. His fingers traced along the edges and she felt a brief moment of wistful wishing before she pushed it aside and moved her eyes to study his face. He looked younger, an odd sense of content pervading his whole countenance. "I had this ridiculous idea that I'm losing- I don't know." he sighed with defeat and she felt an insane urge to reach across the space between them and comfort him. House didn't need comfort. At least he hadn't.

"Losing what?" Instead she pushed him softly, a stark contrast to how she normally jabbed sharply. She felt afraid suddenly, like she was stepping into an area that was unchartered, with no back up plan.

"I'm not upset by being alone." He stated abruptly and she frowned in confusion. He glanced over at her, frowning when she didn't get it. "I don't have relationships. I have very few friends, but I've always been a firm believer in quality over quantity. I may not have a network of friends whom I'm not particularly close to – but I do have one -" He stopped abruptly, staring at her thoughtfully in silence before continuing. "- or two friends who not only know me well, but have always been there." He paused again, the tension descending upon them in the interim.

"House-"

"Wilson said I needed a change. Not that I'm giving him credit or anything – because I'm not. But he was... somewhat right." His tone was reluctant and she laughed slightly.

'I'll never tell him." She spoke solemnly and he glanced up again in irritation.

"This is why you're annoying." She simply smiled for a brief moment before centering her attention on him again. "Wilson wasn't right- I deal with change all the time. Things... change all the time. I can't stop them. But I had a chance to change things on my own terms. So I fired Chase. I knew she'd resign with him – the two of them have been circling around each other all year." He spoke with disgust but she smiled slightly anyway. "Stop looking like that. I didn't-"

"You knew it would help them." She spoke softly and he rolled his eyes.

"Whatever. Point is, I figured this was a change I could control. They've been with me three years anyway- it was time. It's not time for you." He was practically growling by the end of his speech but she heard him clearly enough.

"I don't understand-"

"We're dysfunctional Cuddy. Anybody can see that. But it works for us, in a weird twisted kind of way. You're my friend – of sorts – you're always there. We're always the same distance apart. It's a constant in my life, I know that at any given time I can look around and you'll be the same distance from me as always. It's changed. You've changed. I just wanted to let you know – I changed things for them, not us. So why are you further away suddenly?" She listened to his words as he spoke them, tangling them around to try to convey the right sentiment.

"I don't know." She whispered in response, her voice tired and dull. She didn't deny it – it would be futile at any rate. He was a pit bull and she was a bone he was worrying. If he got too close to the center, she was sure she would splinter. Her hand came up to her face, rubbing across her forehead in frustration. "I don't know why." She spoke simply and he nodded in agreement.

"Do you want – to let go?" His voice was soft, so soft she wasn't sure if she heard correctly. He stared into his cup, contemplating anything but her.

It was a loaded question, filled with double meanings. His favorite kind. She didn't answer right away, thinking about how she had been feeling lately and her exhaustion and disappointment, both with him and her life in general. "I need something to change."

"Do you want to fire me?" She was sure he meant it as a joke, but it came out flat and more serious than it should be.

"Then I'd have to fire everyone." she spoke seriously and he smiled slightly. "I just- it's been a hard year."

"I know." He spoke softly and they fell into companionable silence. The clock ticked softly in the hall and she felt a wave of tiredness wash over her rapidly.

"Are you staying?" It was her own loaded question, and he sat in silence for a moment before answering her.

"Are you staying?" He answered her with her own question and she wanted to smile but couldn't seem to work it up.

"Haven't I always?" He nodded, pushing the chair back and scraping her hardwood floor roughly with the legs, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She stood with him, rising before pushing back and at least saving her floor beneath her chair. His hand took hers and she looked down in surprise before looking up at his unusually serious face. He stared for a moment before the corner of his mouth tugged up slightly.

"I'm staying."


	2. Am I dreaming?

A/N: So you all and my muse agreed, this should be a series. Not sure how long of a series, but a series none the less. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Still not mine.

* * *

This was awkward. Strange, and prickly, and awkward. He had tried to sleep on her side of the bed, but a glare had sent him slowly limping around to the other side. He laid his cane against her nightstand and it looked good there, black wood gleaming against mahogany. He bed creaked too much when he laid in it, and he sighed heavily and dramatically, as his legs twitched under the covers and rustled against the sheets restlessly. The sound irritated her to the point of gritting her teeth, but his breathing was soft and even, and his weight on the other side of the bed was welcome.

She felt like a teenager on a first date – it had been longer than she cared to remember since the last time a man had actually slept next to her. It was strange and the shadows threw patterns on the wall and bed, giving the room harsh depth in the dark, making everything seem more surreal. The air in the room was thick with tension – they had left a vast majority of things unsaid. She didn't even know what the hell she was doing there. Or more specifically what he was doing beside her. The quiet in the room was both oppressive and peaceful and she held her breath waiting for him to break it at any moment.

He remained quiet however, rolling onto his left side and shifting weight off of his leg. This also caused him to face her, studying her in the dark. She felt tired, and worn out. Like her thoughts were draining the energy right out of her, leaving a paper shell behind. She was sure she looked every inch of her age tonight, in the cruel semi light of darkness. Her hair was probably awful, pressed against her head, and if she saw her eyes she was sure they were red rimmed and lined more deeply than ever. She didn't even have makeup to hide behind. He didn't say anything though, just tucked his hand under his pillow and rested the other on the bed, just brushing against her hip. She held her breath at the contact – but he didn't move again and she slowly released it. What in the hell was she doing?

A few hours ago she was thinking that she didn't know if she could afford to sustain House's presence in her life. Now he was laying beside her, and she was contemplating if he was more of a comfort or an annoyance. Comfort was winning out. He was still now, and she liked the heat from his hand against her hip. He hadn't tried to sleep with her – well have sex with her, she mentally corrected herself.

She had asked him to stay as a challenge. Which was stupid considering who she was talking to, maybe even a tiny part of her had known, and that's why she did it. She hadn't meant it to be a question about their personal life – not really. Maybe a little. At the time, she thought he would clearly take the out and assume she meant the hospital. He had turned everything around, flipping it high in the air and landing back in the frying pan like a pro. And she was laying wide awake in the middle of the night, next to a man whom she had very nearly given up on. Sleep was tugging at her, she was blinking more slowly as the thoughts completed their circular pattern in her mind. She slid one hand under the covers slowly as she sighed softly. Her hand slipped into his and as she closed her eyes finally, she was aware of him squeezing it softly. They were a history filled with conversations they never shared.

* * *

Morning light was harsh and cruel, and it didn't really make anything easier for her as she blinked slowly against it. Her bedroom had eastern exposure, and she hadn't used an alarm clock for years. The sun always woke her, pulling her out of her sleep as it's fingers of light stretched across her skin. She always looked the worst in the morning. The pale light seemed to highlight every flaw about her – crow's feet, a too large nose, the small lines at the corner of her mouth. He was still asleep, his hand heavy on hers as she slipped away from him and rolled out of bed with practiced ease.

He looked older in this light. His hair seemed more gray than brown now, and when had that happened exactly? His personality was so large it almost super imposed itself across his features when she was in the same room as him. She always saw the same cocky, sarcastic youth he had been, over layed on his older features, softening them. She had never seen him asleep – not outside of comas, at any rate. She had expected him to look fragile then, had attributed it to his illness, or his gunshots. Physical weakness. Now she realized it was just his lack of consciousness. The missing force of his personality. His eyes. His voice.

She frowned, realizing she was wasting time staring at him when she needed to be getting ready for work. Her shower didn't wake him – and she never blew her hair dry, so there was little to no morning noise as she dressed and brushed her wet hair before applying her makeup. Even the smell of coffee didn't wake him, and she didn't put her shoes on until just before she left the house, leaving him laying asleep in her bed with another unfinished conversation laying beside him, still warm in the bed.

* * *

She was stalking the halls of her hospital today, never in one place too long, as unavailable as she could be while at work. It was an odd role reversal, usually House was the one who went out of his way to avoid her, not the other way around. She didn't even know for sure if he was in yet – if at all – because she had so steadfastly avoided the lobby and his office. The morgue, coma patients rooms and the cafeteria had become off limits as well. She had felt incredibly nervous while on the maternity ward earlier. Not his favorite place, but he'd been there more than a few times for the lounge alone.

She was caught in the x-ray department, checking on the newest MRI machine, obtained mere days ago. Thankfully it was not House himself who caught her. "I never thought I'd see the day." Wilson's voice was amused and annoyed and intrigued, a multi faceted fall of censure.

"What day?" She tried to play stupid – always a wrong move, but what else could she do?

"The day I stepped through the looking glass and suddenly House is the well adjusted one looking for you and you're the psychotic whack job on the verge of a breakdown, practically doing cartwheels to avoid him." Wilson's voice was smug and she sighed inwardly, cursing the new MRI and her desire to check it out.

"I have not been avoiding him – I didn't even know he was in already. At times, I do actually – and I know this may shock you – go out _into_ the hospital I run and check the gears. Occasionally." Her voice was dry as she spoke, and she hoped it was the right combination to throw him off.

"Oh sure." he nodded conversationally and she resorted to mentally cursing again, wanting to pin him against the wall with one of her glares, but unable to.

"What did he need?"

"Well, what he needs has nothing to do with what he wants." She simply arched a brow at his reply, causing him to clear his throat nervously. "I don't know – something about applications and interviews, I think." She nodded in resignation – technically she did need to go over those with him.

"I'll go find him." She spoke like a petulant child, and she kicked herself inwardly for it. Turning quickly, she escaped the room and for the first time that day, took the elevators. Moments later she was outside his office, watching him bouncing his ball from the floor to his cane repeatedly. She frowned – he didn't have a case at the moment, and that was a patented 'contemplative House' move. She didn't knock, simply pressing her against the cool glass and pushing her way into the room uninvited. It was familiar. Routine. She breathed deeply as his attention focused on her sharply.

"It's about time. I've been paging you all morning." She frowned, reaching into her pocket and pulling out her pager to check the battery. Despite her avoidance of him – she had to answer all of her pages – a fact he used to his advantage quite frequently. "Fine. I didn't page you. I just always wanted to say it back to you. I have seven applications as of now, and I'm going through them and weeding out the best. Thought you'd like to help." He shrugged, tossing the ball from hand to hand as he kept his eyes off of her. He kept shifting his balance from left to right and she frowned, confused by his demeanor.

"You. Want my help? Mine." She responded numbly and he nodded, frowning at her for a moment. She shook her head, unsure of what he was up to. "I can't right now I have afternoon meetings."

"What kind of meetings?" His eyes narrowed and he stared at her for a beat before resuming his tossing of the ball.

She glared at him, slightly annoyed before answering. "I'm hiring Chase. There's a senior spot open in the NICU and I thought he'd like it."

"Last time Chase was in the NICU, babies were dying all over the place. Both times." The ball wove through the air, higher and higher each time. Left to right. Right to left. He swayed slightly in time to his throws, his eyes remaining on the ball with occasional glances in her direction.

"Seriously House? Both of those were on your orders. He didn't kill the babies." Left to right. Her eyes tracked his progress as the ball was nearly skimming the ceiling now.

Right to left. "Says you. Half of those baby killing ideas were his -"

"Are you saying he did more work than the others, idea wise?" Left to right. She sank into his chair unwillingly mesmerized by the repetitive motion.

"Yes. Ideas that _killed babies_." She snorted, breaking his concentration as he missed the ball, sending it thudding to the floor, rolling across the carpet until it stilled at the toes of her black stilettos. She picked it up, cradling it against her carefully, cupping it in one hand and pulling it close to her.

"You aren't going to change my mind, so get over it." She stood, strolling across the room, her body loose with confidence as they eased back into their usual routine. It felt electrifying, and she was enjoying it more than usual, but it was a comforting thrill.

"Fine. Just promise me you won't hire Cameron. She'll be coming on to me even more, talking about how the boss/employee barriers aren't there anymore and we can finally be together. TLA, like totally!" As he spoke his voice escalated into a girlish squeal at the end and she cringed. Her hand cupping the tennis ball extended as she placed it into his own neatly.

"Fine. If you take that vegan chick out of those resumes." She grinned, trapping him neatly as he frowned down at her.

"What the hell, does Wilson run to you with _everything_?"

"No, her calling to find out more about the job tipped me off, moron." She shook her head and laughed as he reached across his desk and placed three crisp white sheets in her hands. She stared down at it, surprised he had acquiesced so quickly. "Seriously, _Honey_?"

"Hey I like stripper names. Candy, Bambi, Honey – they just roll off the tongue." He shrugged, delivering the line with ease as she shook her head.

"I'm going to be late." Her hands clenched around the resume, wrinkling it slightly in her damp palms. She turned to leave, her hand stretched out to the door handle – oh, so close to escape-

"You know. If you swing by my place tonight, you can go over those resumes. That way I can call for interviews tomorrow instead of next week." She paused, her hand feeling the cool glass touch of freedom. She didn't look behind her – scared to see his expression. Amused? Satisfied? Nervous? _As if_.

"Fine. That's not a problem. I should be done around seven – I'll stop by right after." She opened the door quickly, escaping out into the hall like a scared rabbit running from a fox. Her pace didn't relax until she had entered the stairwell, taking refuge in the echoing concrete and metal.


	3. Do You Still Feel

Disclaimer: see first chapter.

A/N: Normally I'm not a feedback whore or anything - I love reviews, but don't usually ask for them because as long as I'm satisfied with what i've written I'm fine. This story however, is like my weak spot - I'm just not that sure on how well it's being taken, so if you could, please leave me a review. I greatly appreciate it.

* * *

It was a stupid plan. She had let him corner her at the last minute, longing for escape and receptive to anything that freed her from a situation she should have been enjoying. Or was enjoying too much. She was never really sure.

Never the less, he had caught her and now she was seated on his sofa pouring over applications he more than likely had already gone over and decided who to call already. As she flipped through them she separated them into two piles, based on the tone of cover letters alone. He did not need weak fellows who would agree with him. He also wouldn't have given her these seven if every single one wasn't fully qualified. In the end she set aside four and discarded three.

He peered over her shoulder, ice clinking in the glass of scotch she had declined. "Hey I liked her-"

"Would have been terrible. Everything about her cover letter indicates she idolizes you already-"

"Well, d'uh. Why do you think I liked her?" She glanced over her shoulder, a level glare as she sat properly, knees together and back straight making it difficult for her to see him. Her pencil thin skirt wouldn't allow her to relax, and she had kept her suit jacket on, just in case.

"Do you really want that?" She heard his disgusted sigh and the thump of his cane as he rounded the corner of the couch, lowering himself next to her. He was a good two feet away. She still felt the heat from his skin through the space and layers of expensive linen.

"You just take the fun out of everything, you know?"

"Not everything." She retorted mildly before she could think, placing the last resume in the interview pile and looking up to see his lewd grin.

"True. Some things you can make _exceptionally _fun." He took a drink after speaking and she rolled her eyes, shifting to the edge of the sofa in preparation of leaving. "Where are you going?" His glass hit the table in front of them with a dull thud and she winced as it started to leave a watermark.

"Home House. You wanted me to look at them and I did. You can call tomorrow and set up interviews." Her voice was tired and she resisted the urge to rub at her eyes like a small child. The mascara marks alone would be a nightmare.

"Did Chase accept the job?"

She nodded briefly and he sat up straighter, placing himself along the edge right next to her. "Did you eat?" His question came out of the blue and she frowned, trying to think of her last meal. She was fairly certain she had grabbed a sandwich from a machine around eleven.

"No. Which is why I'm going home. Where I can cook."

"You can't cook. Can you?" He sounded genuinely surprised and she laughed.

"Yes. There are _some_ things you don't know about me. Now I really should be-"

"Stay." He spoke over her as if she wasn't even speaking and she stared at him for a beat. "Have dinner with me."

A thousand different thoughts curled through her mind, beginning and ending with what in the hell was he up to? They didn't have dinner. Or lunch. Or tea. Or coffee. They had had drinks. Once, and it had ended with her skin pressed against his, clinging with sweat and guilt and ownership. "You're going to cook?" She spoke with disbelief and he laughed out loud.

"Hell no. But I can order something. Or alternately I do actually have food, and you could display your skills for me." The last part of that sounded incredibly dirty and she was sure he meant it to. She stood slowly, aware that he was sitting unnaturally still, watching her. Unbuttoning her suit jacket, she draped it across the back of his couch. On her way to his kitchen, she kicked her shoes in the direction of the door. One made it, but the other skidded left, veering towards his tv.

"My definition of food is vastly different from yours." She muttered as she stood in front of his open fridge. He had some cheese, and she saw hamburger in his freezer. She was searching the cupboards for sauce when she stumbled upon the lasagna noodles. Perfect. She pulled everything out she needed and turned the stove on. He stood in the doorway watching her, leaning against the frame casually. "Here, grate this." She held the cheese out and spoke in a no nonsense tone that expected obeying.

An hour later they were seated at the kitchen table, easting lasagna with rolls she had found buried in the freezer – the instant kind that required little to no skill. He ate like he was starving and she watched him, half amused and half disgusted at his lack of table manners. "Who knew you could seriously cook?" He spoke around a roll and she watched in horror, pushing her own food around on her plate listlessly.

"Don't chew with your mouth open." She spoke automatically and he rolled his eyes, taking a sip of water and pushing his now empty plate aside.

"Yes Mom." He leaned back, watching as she picked at her own plate, his eyes darting from her hand to her face and back to the kitchen in that order. "So." He stated awkwardly and she smiled in genuine amusement, she loved to see him at a loss for words or uncomfortable. It didn't happen often.

"So what?" She picked up her own empty plate, leaning over the table and taking his into the kitchen as well. When she came back, she stood awkwardly by the table, her hand trailing along it's edge while her eyes searched for some sort of escape.

"Are you planning your route?" His voice startled her from her thoughts and she shook her head quickly.

"No. Yes. Maybe." She faltered as he laughed lightly. She was gripped by a sudden fear – this was not a familiar setting for her and House. And every time she stepped outside those boundaries with him, bad things happened. She slept with him, figuratively or literally. She let him in, and he was like a four year old in a china store – things just got broken. "I should go." She felt like she had to force the words – push them from her chest up past her lips – like a verbal bulimic, expelling them out.

"Yeah, you sound real sure about that." He stood with the aid of his cane and he moved closer to her slowly. She moved much more quickly when she backed away. He frowned watching her and his grip tightened on the handle of his cane, turning his skin white around the edges. "Why are you afraid?" His question was soft and she felt it stabbing into her swiftly, an accusatory lance through her already too thin skin. She bit her lip, meeting his gaze dead on and seeing the confusion there.

"Experience." Her voice was softer, the word rolling off her tongue gently, harmlessly she thought. The pain hit his eyes a fraction of a second later, and the word rose up between them like a weapon. She didn't try to fix it though – sometimes the truth was the worst weapon – and one he had used against her again and again. She wouldn't feel guilty. Not for the truth. He had glanced down at his hand, and she did too – his knuckles looked blue now – and she felt the guilt curl up beside her heart, sitting just below it and making her feel like she could throw up.

"It's a good reason." His voice was rough and she glanced away – unable to take the look in his eyes. She didn't want him to feel guilty. She didn't want an apology or understanding. She wanted him to keep being his usual self so she could keep pushing him away and not feel like she was missing something. "Cuddy.." His free hand was reaching toward her and she watched it, frozen in place. He seemed to be moving in slow motion and she watched him, thinking of all the time she had to move, run away, escape. She remained rooted in place however, and when his hand touched hers, she didn't flinch or run. She stood there, with an unexpected need to cry lodged in her chest painfully. Her nose tingled from the repressed tears and she couldn't swallow easily anymore.

"Please.." Her voice was a weak whisper, and his hand tightened at the sound. Her eyes felt brighter than sunshine when they met his and it hurt. "Don't."

"Don't you think we should-"

"No." She pulled back from him abruptly, like someone drowning coming up for a burst of air. Suddenly violent and tragic. She moved so quickly she thought she might blur at the edges as she pulled her coat back on, practically running to the door and shoving her foot into one shoe as she limped awkwardly around looking for the other.

"Cuddy – you can't just leave-"

"Watch me." She finally found her other shoe, and braced herself against the wall as she slid it onto her naked foot. Grabbing her purse, she turned to find him blocking the door, six foot two of immovable man. "Please House- just for once, just let it go." She was pleading with him, her heart rate thundering along in her throat as she tried to force the feelings down. She wanted to hyperventilate, but that was so weak.

"I can't." His voice was apologetic and it scared her more than anything else he could have said.

"Why not?" Her inner child was petulant, she crossed her arms and resisted the urge to kick his cane out from under him.

"We let go too much." He sighed, stepping aside and moving closer to her. She could feel the heat from his body as he stood next to her, his breath on her ear. "Haven't we left enough unfinished?"

It was fight or flight, her baser instincts at work. She couldn't escape so only one option was left. Attack. "So what – now suddenly you feel the urge to discuss our feelings and hold hands and tell all of our deep dark secrets? Funny that it seems to be you pushing me, and not the other way around, House. You want to talk? Fine. Let's start with our childhoods. I'm _sure _you have a fascinating story to share and I can tell you all about how I was never quite good enough for my parents, how I became an over achiever and we can talk about how _your_ father-"

"Stop it." His words were quiet and she felt guilt burning in the back of her throat, like an acidic bile just waiting to eat away at her. She blinked slowly and she felt as if the weight of the world was upon her. She wasn't strong enough for this. "Why are you running so hard?"

"Because of you." She laughed hollowly and he frowned at her. "What? That's not a good enough reason? We've spent twenty years avoiding these conversations and now you fire some employees and get a new guitar and you're changing and trying to take me with you. I don't know House, maybe you're ready. Maybe you've been waiting for this moment, and it's the absolute perfect thing for you. I'm not." The tears were building up – a constant pressure behind her eyes, and a constant ache in her chest.

"I didn't think-"

"When do you ever?" She broke across him, like a wave of exasperation and exhaustion. "I spend more time and energy on you than you can ever imagine. I have no social life, no.. _anything_ outside of work. You push and you poke and you take over everything until I can't see anything else! I've spent twenty years waiting House, and when I finally say screw it – it's just not worth it anymore, you _finally_ catch up. I just- don't make me do something about this right now – because you will not like my choice." She knew the hurt was leaking out, bleeding between them onto the wooden floor, but she couldn't stop it – couldn't apply pressure to the wound that had been there for so long. She should have bled to death by now.

His eyes were watching her, soft and not as intensely blue as usual, and his hand came up to her shoulder, a warm comfort there, but he didn't attempt to draw her any closer and she didn't try to bury her head in his shoulder and forget all of the feelings inside of her screaming in warning. "Okay. I won't push." He choked out the words, and she knew that it was so difficult for him to say. His instincts were telling him one thing and she was telling him another.

"Thank you." Her voice was soft and she pulled her purse higher onto her shoulder, standing there uncertainly as she wished that things were different and this night had ended much more pleasantly. She wished that their years of history didn't lay between them, like some insurmountable wall, huge in size and width. She sighed softly, accepting that it couldn't be scaled – not right now. "I'll see you at work?"

"Bright and early, as usual." He quipped lightly and she forced a smile that she didn't feel. "Just.. give me time, please? Don't go anywhere before.." His voice was uncertain and she watched him solemnly. It was a rare sight – House was never this unsure or.. soft. She didn't remark on it though, she merely nodded numbly, unable to speak for fear that she would take everything back. She couldn't take it back. His hand brushed past her hair lightly as she walked past him and out the door. She felt the touch all the way to her car, even hours later laying in her bed she could almost feel the warmth of his skin in her hair. Tears finally seeped out, hot and painful against her face. She felt weak, as though she had been beaten. Exhausted by the emotional drain, as sleep eluded her again for the second night in a row.


	4. You Did Before

A/N: A bit of a shorter one for me, but I'm in the middle of moving, so time is short. I don't know when my internet will be up and running again once we move on sunday - so it may be a while before my next update. But fear not - I'll be writing while it's down, so updates should be fast and furious once I get it back up and running. I really, truely appreciated all the reviews from the last chapter - you guys totally let me know that you're behind this story as much as I am - so thank you very much for taking the time to let me know. Oh and the lyrics mentioned in this chapter are property of Fall Out Boy and no infringement is intended.

Disclaimer: see first chapter

* * *

Days slid by, tickling past one after another as she did what she did best – run her hospital. House continued with his uncharacteristic behavior – toward her at any rate - she still had as many complaints from nurses and patients as ever. He brought her coffee in the mornings, and he had been on time almost four days in a row now. She didn't know if she should be frightened or thankful. Instead she just sipped the coffee, praying it wasn't laced with anything and got on with her day.

On Tuesday she found approval for four fellows on her desk and she frowned at the paperwork. He had stuck a pink Post It on top and she smirked at the violently cheerful magenta note that informed her he couldn't pick just three. She decided it was time for her to finally go upstairs.

She could hear music when she stepped off the elevator. Glass walls and doors weren't the best form of soundproofing in the world. She couldn't hear the words, but she could tell it was a rock song and when she approached the door, she could see him sitting at his desk, playing along with the song and bouncing slightly in his chair. The sight brought a reluctant smile to her face, despite the fact that she was about to walk in and yell at him to turn it down. When she opened the door, he looked up but made no move to turn the song down. He just waved her in, and kept on playing. The lyrics were something about a loaded God complex and she wanted to laugh at how ridiculously appropriate they were for him.

"_Some _people work here House." She pitched her voice to carry over the song - _we're going down, down in an earlier round, but sugar we're going down swinging –_ and she crossed her arms over her chest, trying to look stern. _Is this more than you bargained for yet?_

"Well, sure, but no one on this floor." He responded, turning the volume down slightly under her glare. _Isn't it messed up, how I'm just dying to be him? _

"Oh sure, Wilson is just over there raising puppies and kittens and handing out rainbow medicine." She spoke in a testy voice and suppressed a laugh when he nodded sagely.

"Seriously – have you tried the joints he rolls?" _We're always sleeping in and sleeping for the wrong team._

"Oh my God House!" She dropped the applications on his desk and reached over, turning off the song that she had a suspicion she would be trying to download later. "I can't approve four fellows, you know this. You're budgeted for three."

"I can't get rid of one – take the money from my lawyer fund." He pushed the papers back over at her and she sighed heavily.

"And when you need a lawyer?"

"Maybe I won't this year." He smiled innocently and she snorted loudly.

"As if. So, which doctor will be working for the lowly amount of fifty grand a year?" She was raising her pen as she spoke, knowing that she would let him win – after all, more doctor's trained under him meant more good doctor's. If she could only get him to do a teaching round or two... she laughed at the thought of House leading a bunch of medical students. Maybe not such a good idea.

"Oh come on Cuddy – I thought you knew it would be me. No rent, my pain meds are covered by your sorry hospital – what do I really need money for?" He shrugged and watched as she signed the forms.

"Hookers?" She smiled across at him as she slid the approved paperwork back to him. "Love the pink, by the way." He frowned uncomfortably and looked down.

"Cameron ordered office supplies. I suppose I should feel lucky that they aren't heart shaped with Mrs. Gregory House printed across them." He snapped at her quickly and she grinned wider.

"Yeah too bad Wilson bought those all up." She stood slowly, smoothing her skirt out as she did and feeling a sense of triumph when the action drew his eyes to her legs. She frowned, feeling a bit bad – she was technically a tease.

"Ha ha." His voice was dry and his gaze was appreciative. "Am I still allowed to hit on you?"

"Has anything I've ever said ever stopped you?" The question was rhetorical and they both knew it. She wasn't surprised when he didn't respond to her question. "I want a final interview with all four – before they sign employment contracts House – I have final veto."

"Don't you always?" He stood, his hands pressed against his desk as he reached for his cane. He came around the desk and took the paperwork with him. She scoffed at his question – she would like to think she had final say but the truth was he generally steamrolled over her anyway. She chose not to respond and he sidled closer as she studied the chaos of his desk. When she looked up, she was startled to him right next to her, looking at her nervously.

"I need to go-"

"Have dinner with me. Again." His voice was low and she paused, her heart lodged so high in her chest it hurt. She wanted to say yes. She should say no. She should just run and pretend she hadn't heard him, although that would be a little hard to do now that she had stood there for a minute and a half, staring at him. "I'll even buy this time – no cooking for you- and we could-"

"Why?" Her question was quiet, yet heavy in the minimal space between them. She felt like she was overheating – and it wasn't entirely unpleasant. Being around House had clearly become more dangerous.

"To prove that you don't need to be scared. To get my friend back. So I can tap that – take your pick." He spoke as if none of it mattered at all, but his eyes were tracking the movements of her lips and eyes and she knew that he was serious.

"You wish." She spoke the retort automatically, her hand pushing through her hair nervously as she sought for something else to say. Anything. Reason and want were at war inside her and finally she sighed heavily. "House..."

"Not yet?" He nodded, his face utterly calm, as if he had been prepared for this. "Alright, maybe next time." If his voice had a note of forced cheer, she pretended not to notice as she walked down the corridor toward the elevators. It was safer this way. Had to be safe. The doors closed quickly with a soft whoosh, validating her choice.

* * *

The coffee was too hot and weak. She frowned at it as she sipped, needing the caffeine despite it's quality. Her lap top hummed softly in the silence of her house and she stared at the screen blankly as she read over some files from work. She rubbed a hand along her face, wondering when exactly her life had become work 24/7. She had given final approval to House's new fellows this morning, after interviewing them all. She was fairly certain half of them wouldn't be able to make it – but they at least deserved the chance. House had been predictably annoying during the interviews, as he made comments about her 'discipline' methods and fraternization policies. She was fairly sure every single one of his fellows thought they were sleeping together, but he had laid it on particularly thick when the Cardiologist – a divorced father in his mid-forties – had come in for his interview.

It would almost have been amusing if she didn't know for a fact that House wasn't just being this way to irritate the hell out of her. She took another sip, cringing as the liquid burned her throat, but delivered a much needed jolt. Her phone shrilled from somewhere behind her and she rose tiredly, searching through her purse for the incessantly ringing thing. When she found it, she frowned slightly at the call display before flipping it open. "Dr. Cuddy."

"Cuddy! Thank god, I thought you weren't going to answer." Wilson's voice came across the line, slightly panicked and echoing oddly.

"What's the matter Dr. Wilson?" She spoke calmly, looking down at her mug with a frown. Maybe she should go out for coffee – this crap clearly wasn't working.

"What's always the matter! House- I swear to God I just had him here. But now he's gone and I have a bad bad scary idea about where he's going and I wanted to warn you-" His words tripped over each other and slurred gently despite his clear panic.

"Are you drunk?"

"Did I not just say I was with House?" He spoke swiftly, each word blurring into the next and she frowned trying to figure out what in the hell he said. "Yes we were drinking – we were at this bar – and he was going on about.. something.. I can't quite remember, but it was really funny – I was laughing my ass of. Maybe a college story? It was about you anyway and he just stopped laughing suddenly. It was strange." He stopped suddenly, and the silence stretched out until she cleared her throat.

"And? You called me to tell me House stopped laughing? That's not unusual Wilson. He barely smiles-"

"Not around me." Wilson spoke proudly and she resisted pointing out that he smiled around Wilson because Wilson almost constantly enabled and cow towed to House. "And I _called _because I think he's missing. Or in the bathroom. Or missing. Maybe he went to see you. He likes your hair. You have pretty hair – and the nice rack doesn't hurt anything either. Do you _know_ how much he talks about your ass? It would almost be disturbing if I didn't think that it was his ten year old way of liking you. He _likes_ you. Did you know that?" Wilson's voice was increasingly erratic and unclear, but she got the gist of the conversation. She sighed softly, wondering why on earth she had these two men for friends, when she probably could have had a nice set of girlfriends to go get manicures with and bitch about boys. She liked to conveniently forget that girls never really liked her – in school or even later – she supposed she was too aggressive.

"Go home Wilson. Go to bed. For God's sake get a god damn cab. Drink at least four glasses of water, take two advil and drag your sorry ass into work tomorrow. House is a big boy – he can take care of himself." She spoke in a tired voice and she could hear Wilson's heavy breathing as he listened to her.

"Right. Go home. You'll take care of House. Got it." He hung up abruptly before she could protest and she shook her head. Sighing, she shut down her computer and picked up her half full mug, walking into the kitchen. Once there, she poured out the coffee from her mug and the pot and set about making a new batch. A stronger batch. Lord knew she'd need it when House finally showed up.


	5. Bring me sorrow

A/N: This would have been up much sooner - I made a deal with Alias424 and she ended up updating before me, darn it - but after I wrote this I didn't like it very much. I decided to let it sit for a few days, and lo and behold when i re-read it it looked good to me agian, with a few minor edits. Feedback, is, as always appreciated.

* * *

She found him sitting on her front porch again. It was eerily similar – and except for the slight sway of his hands against the wood of his cane, held loosely in front of him, she would have sworn a case of deja vu. She could barely make out his dark outline, hunched against the equally inky night and she wanted to turn around and pretend she hadn't seen him. Go back into her bedroom and the cold glow of her lap top – the comfort of familiar things like files in the middle of the night. She had to make a decision, because the cup of black coffee she had her hand wrapped around was burning her skin.

She pushed the door open with a sigh – as if she had ever been able to walk away before – and sat down next to him, handing him the hot beverage silently. He took it, his long fingers brushing against hers as it slid from her hand into his. His frame seemed to relax as he took a sip, balancing the cup carefully on his knee as he stared out at the silent suburbia around them. The silence seemed to stretch between them, like a fine thread – ready to snap at any moment.

"I haven't been sleeping lately." His voice was quiet and clear when he finally spoke, and she frowned at the azalea bush in front of her thoughtfully. He wasn't drunk.

"I thought- Wilson said-"

"Wilson drinks like a fish. And I'm old enough now to know my limits. I only had three drinks at most. He called you huh?" His hand was gripping the mug tightly again, and the tension had returned to his body, tightening him like an over tuned guitar string. She wondered if he could actually shatter the mug with his grip. She took it out of his hand, setting it on the step beside her before she could find out.

"Yes. He said he lost you and I have pretty hair and a great rack, and then -" She hesitated for a brief moment and debated telling him that according to Wilson, he liked her. "- I told him to go home. He should be nice and hungover tomorrow." He nodded, and she was sure he noticed the pause, but thankfully he said nothing about it. "Why haven't you been sleeping?"

He shrugged, twirling the cane between his fingers, rolling it forward, and then back slowly. "I'm not a very patient man."

"No, really?" She scoffed slightly, her voice dry and humorless.

"I know that's not a surprise – but I am trying to be one here. Patient, I mean. It's not working out so well." He frowned slightly and she glanced over at him thoughtfully. "I find myself seized by inexplicable urges. Like sitting on your front porch again in the middle of the night. I have no reason to be here. I have a nice home – with a warm bed – more liquor. Drugs. In fact the only thing it doesn't have is you and I find that enough of a reason to sit on your concrete step, despite the fact that it's cold and hurts my leg, just because you're here." He turned his head toward her as he spoke and she felt her heart stop for a moment before beating again a moment later. His gaze was intoxicating and she felt her skin tingle under it – a slightly unpleasant clamminess that was oddly thrilling.

She wanted to touch him, she wanted to shift closer and slide across the distance so that her body matched his, and fitted against him perfectly. That she would fit was a certainty. Her hips even rolled slightly – but she didn't make the actual movement, just leaned toward him briefly before returning to her original position. She stared forward again, breaking away from his gaze because it always saw too much. Her azalea bush swayed in the late night breeze and she wondered why they always had to be so out of step with one another. In the three legged race of life – they would lose.

"I'm so used to being three steps behind you Cuddy – and the view is admittedly very nice-" She smiled at that, but it was tight and short lived. "I don't know when I passed you. How did I miss that?"

"You were probably busy trying to ruin your life at the time." She spoke calmly and he winced visibly. She felt the ache in her chest grow larger at the physical reaction to her words. She never meant to hurt him – then again he never meant to hurt her either. Their words were often weapons, small daggers, short arrows, some heavy swords, handled clumsily and more painful because of it. "I didn't mean-"

"Don't apologize." He spoke swiftly, and she wondered if it was his mantra. His motto for life. Never apologize. "I should go." He gripped the cane tighter in preparation to stand and she felt an unexplainable panic seize her. If she let him go now – he'd never come back. _Isn't that what you wanted?_ No. Her hand shot out, gripping his wrist tightly and feeling the strong muscle knitted around the bone there as he paused and looked over in surprise.

"Don't go." She couldn't say what she wanted to say – don't leave me. Don't give up. She still needed time, but he needed reassurance that it wasn't all for nothing.

He still stood, pushing up until her hand fell away from his and she felt a sudden tightening in her body – burning behind her eyes and she could almost swear she wanted to cry – but she didn't do that. She didn't even notice his hand grasping hers and pulling her up as well until she was staring at the logo on his shirt and wondering if he even owned an iron. He didn't let go of her hand and she stood there in the semi darkness, gripping his hand tightly – praying he would stay. Wishing she could get past this fear – whatever it was – and just give him what he wanted. Wishing she didn't feel terrified even now, her skin sweating nervously, wondering if he could feel her elevated heart rate.

He shook his head slightly, clearly baffled but not really needing an explanation. In their world they went on trust so often. She trusted him to be a better doctor than she was. He trusted her to be a better person. His hand broke away from hers and she held her breath as it slid up to her face, cradling her hair gently as he watched her. Despite the dark, his eyes were as bright as always and she knew she should move away, but her body didn't seem to be complying with her brain. "I promised I wouldn't push." His voice was quiet and she felt the ridiculous urge to laugh as it struck her that they hadn't exchanged one single word of their usual banter. "I'm not going anywhere."

She blinked slowly, knowing that he was leaving her now – but not leaving permanently. Her heartbeat seemed to slow as she leaned toward him thankfully. Without thinking, she rose on tiptoe, her bare feet stretching and arching, pushing her up to his height. Her lips met his hesitantly – softly and she was startled by his sudden movement. He gripped her shoulder painfully, as his mouth moved over hers, taking control. It was almost violent, yet hauntingly beautiful at the same time. Kissing him was like riding a bicycle – she remembered every sensation the moment she touched him – memories rushing back in technicolor – wrapping around her like an acid trip. The only contact between them was his mouth on hers, open and insisting and his hand that had moved to the back of her neck. If she closed her eyes, she was sure she would see a threshold image of him, burning through the back of her lids. He was imprinted on her, she knew.

He broke away from her, his hand pushing up into her hair and fisting there as if she were an anchor he was holding on to. She didn't know now why she had done it – but she wasn't sorry she had. Her lips were swollen and she felt alive for the first time in months – her skin flushed, the color chasing away the pallor that had been there. For one moment, the blood singing through her veins as she stood before him, his hand in her hair and their chests almost touching as they both fought to breathe normally, she wanted to curl herself against him and use the heat between them to forget why she had any misgivings in the first place. But as her breathing steadied, so did her thinking as the same fears gripped her, possibly even more painfully than before.

"Well, goodnight." His voice was fighting to be wryly amused but had a rough tone that he couldn't quite disguise. She smiled, reveling in the knowledge that she could do that to him. She didn't respond, not trusting her own voice, so she simply nodded. His hand pulled her forward, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before he let go and switched his balance to the cane at his side. He nodded in her direction – an acknowledgment that he would be back – or still there before he swung away abruptly and headed back down her stairs to the motorcycle he had parked at the curb. She didn't make a sound as she watched him swing onto it – his movements graceful despite his leg – and she stood still on the porch, watching as his tail lights disappeared into the dark. When she finally turned to go inside, she pressed a hand to her mouth lightly, convinced she could still taste him there.

* * *

The building was startlingly bright as she entered it the next day – her laptop case heavy in one hand and her cell phone in the other as she pressed it to her ear, trying to convince their latest donor that while his money was appreciated, they had a strict policy – _now anyway_ – of no direct donor involvement. It wasn't going well, and she wanted to sigh heavily into the phone and just be rude for once. Out of the corner of her eye, she was shocked to see House – again on time – leaning against the Clinic counter and speaking in a voice much too loud to Wilson, who looked like crap and was wincing every time he spoke. She bypassed them deftly, ignoring Wilson's save me expression, and continued into her office quickly.

She ended the call thankfully halfway to her desk, sinking into her chair and glancing through her messages while she waited for her computer to start up. A single paper cup of coffee sat in the center of her desk, just left of her waiting messages and she smiled briefly while staring at it. She hoped it was a trend that continued – but she was especially thankful for it this morning, since her hands had been too full on the way in to grab any.

She was halfway through the cup and her messages when Wilson finally trudged in, head hung low like a dog who had been chewing on your really expensive shoes. "I ah- may have said some things.. or not. I don't quite remember-" He tripped over his own words, awkward and gangling as he stood, shoving his hands into his pockets sheepishly.

"Did you take the Advil?" He nodded as she cut him off, and looked up allowing her to see the redness still evident in his eyes. "Other than a comment or two about my.. appendages, you were fine Wilson. Don't worry about it – just go to work." Her tone was gentle – and he looked at her thankfully. "Besides, it isn't as if you haven't had to deal with me drunk over the years -"

"Once, maybe twice. And both those times House managed to.. chase you away quickly enough. I'm terribly sorry Cuddy." One of the things she appreciated about Wilson was his ability to accept responsibility. Sometimes too much – but it was a refreshing change at times.

"There's no need to apologize." She took another sip of coffee, shifting another pink slip into the pile at her right. "Honestly Wilson, it was fine."

"Well I felt awful about it – and House didn't help today – I just felt like I should apologize." His feet shuffled awkwardly and she nodded, knowing if she kept talking, he would stay there, looking for absolution that she had already given him. "I'll just uh – get back to the Clinic." He nodded slightly before exiting her office and she stared after him for a brief moment, before turning to her computer, now fully booted up. She spent the next hour returning phone calls and going over the quarterly report, before her restlessness finally forced her out of her seat and into the hospital.

House had a case today – he and his new team had been assigned it less than thirty minutes ago, she knew. So it wasn't out of the ordinary for her to find herself meandering along his floor, watching him interact with his new team. As she rounded the corner, though, she saw she wasn't the only one – as she found Chase standing behind the wall, watching intently. When she touched his elbow and he started, he grinned at her ruefully.

"It's not that I miss the job – I mean i do miss the cases, but I know I've learned all I could. I just- I remember my first weeks on the job as being so horrible. He was never nice, or easy on me. Never complimented me, nothing. I just wanted to know – if it was really as bad as I remembered. If it was-"

"Just you?" She smiled wryly, and glanced over her shoulder where House was circling various symptoms heavily in black marker, while staring at the four doctor's before him with an incredulous expression. "Believe me – I've seen him go through a few fellows. It's not just you Chase. In fact – you may have lasted the longest. So congratulations."

He smiled slightly, before glancing back into the room one more time with more appreciation. "All four of them will never last." he spoke conversationally. "I'd put money on the two male doctor's not lasting a week."

She leaned against the wall next to him, looking over as well. "How much money. Because I saw the little brunette won't make it. And House will fire the arrogant one out within two weeks. The older guy i think might make it – though i really don't think House wants him to." They watched as House started alternately hitting the white board and shouting at the fellows before him in exasperation.

"I'll put fifty on the two women losing it and leaving first." Wilson's voice spoke from behind Chase and they both turned and looked at one another. She smiled brightly – the prospect of making easy money always had made her happy – it was why she avoided casino's like the plague.

"Deal." She and Chase answered simultaneously and Wilson grinned for a moment. Chase glanced over and his smile dropped. "Crap. Incoming." He turned on his heel, leaving her leaning there alone, since Wilson had scurried off to his office quickly. She knew before looking exactly who was incoming.

"Well, didn't know you were into threesomes, Cuddy. Looked pretty cozy – did I ruin it for you?" His voice was harsher than usual and she stared up at him as he crowded into her space, leaning against the corner in front of her.

"Yes, we were just planning the time and place. How's the fellows coming along?" He frowned down at her and she walked past him, pushing against his glass door and entering his office. He trailed behind her, probably appreciating the view, but she didn't really mind.

"They're morons. As usual. Why must everyone think inside their own specialty? The heart guy always says the heart, the brain guys always says the brain. I mean, you're no genius but at least you never try to convince me it's always the hormones." He sniped as he eased himself down into his chair. She sat on the footstool, frowning at him.

"That's why you're there. They think inside their specialty because it's all they know House. Give it time." Her hand rested on his leg unconsciously and when she became aware of it, she made no move to lift it. It was a rare moment of ease between them, and she accepted it at face value.

"Yeah well. I can only teach so much, the idiots need to be willing to learn. So how much is riding on the bet?" His tone was casual but she knew he was curious, as usual.

"Fifty bucks. Guess I'm not paying Wilson enough-"

"Nah, he's just cheap. Think it's a Jewish thing?" He was laughing at her and she glared at him silently. "Who'd you bet on?"

"I'm not telling you." she smiled slightly as he sat forward eagerly.

"Why? Do you think I'll stack the odds in your favor just to get in your pants? I am shocked you'd think that Cuddy." His affronted tone didn't fool her and she rolled her eyes slightly.

"More like know, but whatever." She laughed gently and lifted her hand off of his leg carefully. "I should go."

"Administration – always on the go with the beatings and the whippings. Don't they know you need a break sometimes too?"

"You still have clinic hours today, and would you look at that? Your fellows are off testing. Bet you could squeeze some in." She stood and he winced painfully.

"I could squeeze _something_ in..."

"House." It was a warning and he shrugged unapologetically.

"Fine. Killjoy." He pushed himself up, standing beside her, closer than usual. She assumed it was part of his plan. "I'll go into the clinic – but I can't guarantee-"

"Do you want to do something?" He stopped speaking as she blurted the question out and he frowned down at her.

"Something as in have hot dirty sex in a broom closet, or something as in have dinner? You need to be more specific."

She sighed up at him, rolling her eyes slightly. "Dinner. Maybe. Or we could go somewhere-"

"I don't do 'somewhere'. Dinner. I'll bring it to your place. How's Friday?" He didn't look surprised by her offer and she felt a certain disappointment at his lack of reaction. His acceptance had been instant, however, and this mollified her slightly.

"It just means-"

"Dinner. I got it Cuddy. So eightish?" He didn't wait for her to respond, he simply nodded as if agreeing for her and stepped around her, leaving her standing in his silent office wondering if she had made a mistake or not. It had been her choice to ask him – she knew if they continued to dance around one another, this.. whatever it was between them would never be resolved. She nodded to the empty room, before leaving quietly, and thinking how much time she had to survive to get to Friday.


	6. Wasted Days

A/N: I know I know - it's late, you can beat me later and review now. technically, only half a chapter - but I had to get it out there, ya know? So I can move on. Sigh. Just so you guys know - when I'm blocked I usually write one shots - but I don't always post them here. I do at my LJ - the link is in my profile if you wnat to check it out!

* * *

Her palms were sweaty and she was sure that at any given moment she would be forced to skid across her cold tile, sliding into her bathroom to heave the non existent contents of her stomach up. Best to stick close by it – just in case, she thought. Depending on the day time had been either marching along slowly – resolute – or speeding by so fast her hair whipped around in her face and she felt dirty just from the movement.

Nights were the worst – because during the nights she would lay awake, constantly analyzing every spare inch of her life and where it was now until she fell into an exhausted fitful sleep. Then the dreams would come, and she wouldn't get any kind of restful sleep. His hands would be on her skin, hot and dry, brushing lightly, pressing deeply, fingers biting into soft flesh until she cried out. His taste would be on her tongue, and she would writhe restlessly against her four hundred count cotton sheets, leaving her with nothing but a keen sense of frustration and weariness and a bed that needed to be seriously remade the next morning.

If she compared it to anything it was like a war. Her waking mind versus her sleeping body. She thought both were losing at this point – because she was pretty sure her heart couldn't take much more of this. She fought to maintain a normal appearance at work. She was capable, she was strong. She did her job well, and somehow managed to interact with him without it becoming more than it should be. It seemed like a small triumph, but she knew how often their small moments could grow out of proportion and instantly become something bigger and more meaningful.

It was only a slight comfort that he seemed to be skirting those moments as much as she was. Since she had agreed to the dinner, he had seemed almost reluctant to push her the rest of the week. House was many things, but never reluctant. She pressed her hands down to the cold cream tile, looking down at the mauve veins running through it blindly. She couldn't blame him for it – she had been either convincing herself that this would be the time to finally talk to him, or berating herself for even suggesting it in the first place. Idly, she wondered if her skirt would wrinkle from sitting on the bathroom floor, and wondering if perhaps she should have worn jeans. But he liked her legs.

She could see purple even when she closed her eyes, and she tried to calm her rapid breathing as she sat down and tried to remember all of the points she wanted to discuss with him. She wasn't sure what she needed from him exactly – reassurance, maybe. Proof that this time would not be like last time. That this would be more than just one night of heart stopping skin on skin contact – that he would be there the next morning. That there was no Stacy this time, waiting to be wounded with the knowledge.

Her nails scraped along her scalp as she pushed her hands into her hair and attempted to remember how to breathe properly. What she really wanted to know – _needed_ from him, really – was the knowledge that he was serious this time. She remembered the times before this one – when something – or someone – would grab his attention and he would fully focus on them until his interest waned or something else more interesting came along. House loved puzzles – but unfortunately once they were solved, he took no pleasure in observing the complete picture – he simply moved on to the next hard to piece together picture. She couldn't go all in if he only moved on the moment she ceased to be a challenge.

In the beginning, she had thought he was someone to look up to. Aspired to be better than he was – she had wanted to hold it over him triumphantly. Then he had left Michigan, and she had thought he was just a might have been from her past. When he first appeared at PPTH she had thought he was someone to learn from, but had rapidly learned he was someone to avoid if she wanted to go anywhere. When she had accepted her job, she had been sure he was someone to conquer. Pin down and control – and do what no Dean before her could do. Then the infarction happened, and she had thought at the time that perhaps he was her test. The reminder that she was fallible, at all times. She wasn't sure if she would ever call him a friend – but at some point he had become a constant in her life.

Her mother had told her years ago – in her infinite wisdom – that love was not supposed to be easy. Like anything in life – relationships required hard work, and that was how they were successful. She would hear reports of divorce, and shake her head muttering under her breath about youth today – and if they just _worked_ harder, perhaps the divorce rate wouldn't be quite so high. She had listened to her, biting her lip and refraining from pointing out that sometimes you just couldn't work enough. If something was irreparable, all the work in the world wouldn't put it back together.

She and House had never seemed to be something that solidly worked in the first place. Over the years, their various cracks had spread out between them, a spider's web of memories and she could trace every line. She thought that they were too far gone – the veneer cracked and peeled so badly that any more pressure would shatter them into a million small fragments, unable to be put together again – only cutting them sharply if they made the attempt. Now she was staring at the ceramic around her, wondering if perhaps – just maybe – they were made of stronger stuff than she had originally thought.

She never heard him enter, but when he stepped into her bathroom, she instantly felt his eyes on her, running down over her like too hot water in the shower. Quick and stinging but pleasurable all at once. He didn't say anything when he reached the door frame, simply studied her silently. She kept staring at the tile below her, mentally cursing the fact that he never seemed to knock, he simply let himself in. She swallowed, breathing deeply and noticing for the first time the smell of food – possibly Indian – creeping through the air. How long had he been there? How long had _she_ been here?

She shifted slightly, feeling the movement all the way to her toes as she looked up and finally met his eyes. She wanted to open her mouth – say something witty, something acerbic – something so very them but she couldn't seem to concentrate on anything other than his eyes and the huge knot currently writhing around in her stomach. She hated being nervous – hated anticipation and the unknown. It was what had stopped her from trying again with the invitro – what had kept her withdrawn from any type of social life.

He held a hand out, his other hand gripping his cane tightly in preparation of the balance needed. She took it warily, hoping that he would remain silent and they could ignore the fact that she was currently hiding in her ensuite. She didn't hide. She was the seeker – under normal circumstances. His hand was warm, and almost silently understanding as she used it and the edge of her tub to pull herself to standing. If it was painful for him, he didn't show it – he simply stood aside as she passed him and walked down her hall to her kitchen.

The food smelled delicious, but her stomach rolled and she knew she wouldn't be eating right away. Instead she turned to face him abruptly – causing him to stumble back in surprise. "I don't think I can do this." Her voice was surprisingly low – even to her own ears, like a wind whispering through dry leaves – and his hand reached out, taking her elbow firmly as if he wanted to steady himself, or her.

"Do this what? Eat? Make pleasant conversation – I beg to differ Cuddy but I have seen you do both, remarkably well I might add." He was striving for his usual sharp tone but it fell slightly short, rubbing against her ears like a dulled knife. She wanted to shake him violently, push him until he hit the wall anything to just make him shut up and realize she was serious and he needed to be too.

"_This_ is why I can't do this House! Can you never ever take anything seriously?" She jerked her arm, but his grip held firm despite her effort to shake him off. She sighed in anger and frustration and stopped moving, looking up at him with heated eyes. "I have been thinking, rethinking and over thinking this – and you are just standing there making-"

"You're thinking too much Cuddy!" He finally interrupted his eyes lit with anger and frustration as well. "Why do you need to think about this? Either you're trying to force yourself into wanting this, or you're trying to force yourself into _not _wanting it. I can't help you either way." His shrug was remarkably casual, despite his desperate hold on her arm that kept her pinned in place next to him. Too close. Her breathing increased as she stared at him incredulously.

"You think that's what it is? Don't you even _get_ this House? I need you to-" Her voice was rising, heated with her unfulfilled needs and he shook his head sharply.

"You _need_ me to make promises no man could keep. I can't give you a guarantee Cuddy – there is no extended warranty plan on our lives – sorry." His words were rough and she blinked in surprise as she listened. Anger was pounding through her veins, intermingled with her very blood. "Cuddy-"His own anger suddenly deflated as he sounded defeated slightly. "I don't know what I can do. I want you – but I don't want to have to drag you along behind me, kicking and screaming. I want you where you've always been – beside me. I know I told you I'd be patient – and I suppose I suck at it - but I see your doubts every time you look at me. And it hurts." His hand finally released her, but she didn't sag back in relief or step away from him. She had seen him angry, happy, in pain, dying – but never defeated.

"I don't want to have them House – I don't want to steel myself every time I see you – waiting for the other shoe to drop. But I do – because it's what you've taught me to do. You can't expect to undo twenty years of self preservation with two dinners and late night visits. I _hate_ this feeling – and God I want to just-" She stopped herself from continuing, because it would just give him something to feed on – and he nodded silently. She was still so close to him she could smell the mixture of leather, exhaust and outdoors on him. It should have been a bad combination – but he made it work.

"So... there's this great food I paid a lot of money for some Indian guy to make.." She appreciated his effort to ease the awkward tension that seemed to creep in between them, choking the very air around them until they seemed stuck in a small vacuum.

"Dinner looks great." She smiled nervously and he stepped away slowly – as if an invisible hand forced it's way between them, pushing them apart. She looked at the sudden distance and felt an intense longing to have him right back next to her, so she could feel him in the atmosphere around her. Instead she turned and sat down, determined to take things one step at a time. One awkward stumble after the next – a difficult movement that seemed shaky and impossible at times. She was used to longing for things that never seemed to happen – used to the constant ache that an unsatisfied life brought with it. One step at a time was all she could manage right now – it was hard to step around all the pain. But they'd manage.


	7. Don't Think

A/N: Let's not discuss how much I re wrote this. Because of this fact though, I'm hovering over this chapter like an anxious mother, so feedback is appreciated.

* * *

Some days, small steps were easier than others. They had continued to dance around each other for a week now – a week of him being his usual self, bursting into her office at inappropriate times, running tests he shouldn't while treating his new fellows so badly that one of them had been crying in her office two days ago before quitting. Chase was sad to see her go – taking any money he had placed on the bet with her. Wilson had been smug, claiming that it was only a matter of time until he was rolling in his new found cash.

She'd yelled at House for a good half hour after that incident, but he had sat and listened like a student with a crush on his teacher and she'd finally had to leave before she cracked under the pressure of his rapt gaze and laughed. His three remaining fellows had watched the confrontation unfold, and she really didn't need them thinking worse than they probably already did.

At the same time, his usual antics had taken on a hidden layer – maybe it had been there all along, she wasn't sure – but when they fought now, there was a certain look in his eye , a slight smile on her face even when she was trying her best to stay pissed at him. She had brought it up to him the previous day but he had simply shrugged and grinned before muttering out the word "Foreplay" and ducking out of her office before she could kill him, or throw something handy at his retreating back.

At the back of her mind, her thoughts did a kind of constant loop – a contorted pirouette that couldn't spin out. The last ten years ran through her thoughts like a constant stream of noise. She had wanted to figure herself out before she broke down. All she had been able to conclude was that she wasn't done figuring him out – and she didn't think she ever wanted to be. When she came to this thought – her breathing always stalled and she had to re focus on something else, because she knew what it meant – but she felt no great sense of preparedness from it, it didn't calm her nerves to finally come to a conclusion – it just helped her sleep better.

She was once again contemplating these thought as she pushed a pasta salad around on her plate. She wasn't even aware of being observed until they sat down. "Why I do think our Dean looks sorely in need of a distraction, Wilson." House dropped his tray in front of her and she wrinkled her nose at the sight of his food. "Here's a hint – it's already dead – as much as pasta can be anyway – so stop stabbing it like that." He settled down with a remarkable grace that seemed at odds with his jerky movements. Wilson sighed behind him, placing his own lunch tray gently down and sitting without speaking, as if he felt a need to over compensate for House's noise.

"Oh, sorry – I was thinking about you." She spoke sweetly and stabbed her fork through a piece of pasta particularly viciously as he watched in amusement.

"I always told you I brought out the passion in her." He leaned over to Wilson, whispering loudly as Wilson rolled his eyes.

"Everything all right Cuddy?" Wilson's tone was concerned and she felt a strange guilt as he asked. She nodded quickly and he looked at her for another moment before bending his head down to his own lunch. She met House's eyes over his head and glared at him. He shrugged before picking up his sandwich and taking a large bite.

"Of course every thing's all right Wilson. Look at her – have you ever _seen_ her tops so low cut? It's always a good sign, if you ask me." He spoke around his food and she watched in a fascinated disgust, wondering why in the hell she was thinking of getting more involved with him.

"Which no one did, actually." Wilson spoke in a tired voice, only to be cut off by another tray landing at their table as Chase sat down heavily. House glanced at him in shock before swallowing and leaning across the table.

"And who told you it was okay to sit with the grown ups now, Sheila? Think because you've got your own job now that suddenly we're all _friends_?" Chase ignored him, turning to her and nodding before speaking.

"Did you get the-" She nodded – he had chosen to give her the money he owed on the bet and she had secretly found it amusing he thought she was more trustworthy than Wilson.

"Ha! Just proves how much of an idiot you still are if you think out of the two _Cuddy_ here is more trustworthy with money. Just because people pay her for her services-" She kicked House under the table and glared at him sharply.

"How do you even know about the bet?" Chase asked, mildly surprised. House just smiled in return.

"I know all." He responded, taking another bite of his lunch. She watched the three men eat, and decided that eating with three men could be the best diet plan ever, since it was certainly putting her off her appetite. "So – how's Cameron? Still crying for me while you two-" Another kick, harder and slightly higher this time caused him to break off. He looked across at her offended. "Jeez, would you stop that?!"

"Depends – are you going to stop being an ass anytime soon?" She responded calmly, taking a sip of water as Wilson and Chase watched them silently.

"No. I know I've joked about you being violent turning me on, but I didn't mean it." He was, as usual speaking loud enough that the entire cafeteria could hear him. She just smiled, meeting his gaze head on.

"Yes you did." She stated simply before rising, holding her tray in front of her with a smile. He smiled for a half second back at her before adopting an affronted look, causing her to smile wider. "If you'll excuse me." She looked at Wilson and Chase as she spoke, pointedly not including House in her display of manners. They nodded, and Wilson gave her a half wave before she turned, striding away from the table and wondering what in the hell they would be discussing now.

* * *

She was on her way to check in with Brenda at the clinic when she was pulled inside an exam room. She didn't even feel startled, which should have disconcerted her slightly, but she knew when she turned around she would see him there, grinning down at her as he stood entirely too close for comfort. His hand was leaning against the door behind her and she fought to keep a calm smile on her face.

"Nice display at lunch Dr. Cuddy." His voice was soft, which did surprise her. She felt like she should lean closer to hear him, which was ridiculous since she was mere inches away from him. They hadn't been this close since that kiss on her porch and she wanted to close her eyes for a moment as the feeling swept over her again.

"What display?" If her voice was slightly breathier than she'd intended, he didn't comment. He also didn't move away from her. His mouth twitched, pulling up into a half smile as his eyes watched her silently. "You didn't call." She pointed out after a moment and he frowned at her for a moment.

"I figured after that last awkward disaster you'd need time." He shrugged as he spoke and she leaned against the door, feeling like she needed the support right now. She still hated to think of their last dinner – the argument and the tension – and it had all been caused by her. Her semi breakdown before he got there, her rampant uncontrollable fears that seemed to bleed into every conversation she had with him lately. Fears that had dissipated over the last few days.

"Time's up." She spoke without thinking and looked up at him, wishing they were back on her porch – or at his, anywhere but an exam room in her hospital. He chuckled in disbelief and she waited for him to realize she was serious.

"I thought you needed-"

"I did. I had it."

"But you said that-"

"Sometimes I'm an idiot House. Sometimes I get scared. Sometimes.." She trailed off and he leaned closer. Slightly hunched so that he could see her face still, instead of the top of her head. She felt her breath freeze in her lungs, as she was acutely aware of his body millimeters from hers. She wanted to grin – they fit, they always had. An unexplainable bubble of happiness rose in her and she had to fight it back down, because it seemed wrong and ridiculous for the feeling to be singing through her blood. It had been so long she almost felt guilty about it's mere presence. She felt gravity pulling her closer to him, and her mind shut down for a moment – forgetting where they were, and who they were.

He pulled back suddenly, his arm disappearing from behind her as he placed more distance between them. "Good. I won't make that mistake again." He picked up a file that had been laying on the exam table and walked past her through the door. "Now stop pulling me aside for quickies, Dr. Cuddy! _Some_ of us are trying to work!" She stood in the doorway shaking her head – the patients didn't know them from a hole in the wall, and the clinic staff were well versed in his antics – so much so that other than Brenda shoving a new file at him – he was ignored. She walked back to her office slowly – trying to hide the smile that threatened to burst through.

* * *

She decided that she wasn't used to feeling this happy for a reason. It made her do stupid things, give into crazy impulses, like deciding half way through driving home that she would come here instead. He didn't look surprised when he opened his door to her though, and she hated that he wasn't. "Cuddy-"

"No." She had thought and re-thought and then sat down and thought some more about their situation – and they had talked about it more times than she cared to count. She was sick of talking. She just wanted to feel and know that she had made the right choice. So when she reached forward and pulled him toward her, her hands didn't hesitate and he didn't resist.

Her mouth met his almost violently, filled with repressed tension and a certain level of relief. Finally. She felt his hands on her waist and his stubble under her fingertips as she traced his jawline. Her mouth opened under his and she didn't even care that they were standing in his hall – in clear view of the front door of his building. All she could do was feel the heat of his hands, and the wet of his mouth. The discomfort as she stretched up to reach him, and the relief when he pulled her closer to him, through the door – hissing when her hip hit the door frame, but not ever stopping what she was doing or even considering it. Her back hit the wall with a dull thud, and the door stood opened beside them. His hands were moving up her back, burying themselves in her hair and she moaned into his mouth.

He was pushing her coat aside, down and off her shoulders to land with a muffled thump on the floor. Her hand reached out blindly, pushing the door closed, it's slamming oddly satisfying as her mouth finally released his and her hands transferred their attention to pulling off his wrinkled dress shirt and tossing it aside. His hands had crept under her blouse, skating along the waist of her skirt as his mouth traveled along her collarbone and down her sternum. His hands pushed up along her ribs, his long fingers tracing patterns there. She thought she might stop breathing, she wasn't entirely sure she still needed to anyway.

It was different than the first time – she had been fumbling then, her focus finely glazed by a film of alcohol. She hadn't had a drink in days this time – and everything seemed so much more intense. The feel of his skin against hers, the scent of tobacco and leather as she buried her face by his head. She was on fire, and coming undone underneath his skilled hands. She watched him, heavy lidded as his hands moved across her shirt, removing buttons deftly. His wrists were beautiful – a strong combination of bone and muscle.

Her own hands seemed smaller as she slid them under his shirt, dragging it along with their slow ascent. When her eyes met his and she saw a mirror of her own thoughts, she felt her emotions overwhelming her, and she kissed him to forget. He had dropped his cane and they stumbled slightly as they danced and wove unsteadily down the hall. His hands were on her, and she was leading him to the ultimate destination. Her knees hit the bed first and she only just managed to turn enough so that he landed first and she lay slightly on top of him, to his left.

He swallowed heavily as she lifted herself up to look down at him seriously for a moment. The room was almost dark and she smiled suddenly. His skin was cool against hers, and their breathing was uneven. His smile matched hers, before he pulled her down against him, rolling over with her until they were side by side, his hand reaching down past her hemline and skirting up over her thigh lightly. She shivered in the dark and moaned. "Not fair." Her own arms were pinned beneath his and she could feel his chuckle against the skin at the base of her throat.

"We don't fight fair."


End file.
